


Jinxes and Superstitions

by binkty



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8686144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binkty/pseuds/binkty
Summary: Crane discovers Abbie's superstitious side after inadvertently jinxing a very important Mets game.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be for Ichabbie Holloween (even though it has nothing to do with Halloween. The prompt was given during the Blue Jays playoff run and this is where my mind went for superstition) but I rarely ever get things done when I'm supposed to so here it is now, a month later.

A leadoff double to start the top of the ninth was not something Abbie wanted to see. A runner in scoring position. With nobody out. In a scoreless do or die game where the first run could be the decider? Yeah, it had her a little on edge. In fact it had her with her feet on the edge of the couch, hugging her knees to her chest, fingers pressed against her mouth, and unconsciously rocking back and forth.

It was the National League wildcard game. The New York Mets versus the San Francisco Giants. The winner would move on to the MLB playoffs, the loser would have their season come to a close and Abbie had decked herself out in Mets gear for the occasion. An oversized Mets hoodie (that she'd stolen from a past boyfriend but now claimed as her own since she no longer remembered who said boyfriend was she'd had it so long) and a Mets ball cap. Crane, as always, wore his colonial get up and watched the events unfold in a considerably more relaxed fashion from the armchair adjacent to where Abbie sat on the couch.

"How could he call that a ball?" Abbie called out, gesturing toward the TV in frustration. "That was so obviously a strike! Wasn't even borderline!" 

"I must agree, Lieutenant. And the device the television broadcast uses to keep track of the pitches thrown clearly shows that to be the case. It was well within the perimeters of the 'strike zone'," Crane replied, the use of quotations evident in his speech.

"Thank you! Dude needs his eyes checked. And there's another one!" she shouted as ball two was called. "I swear he called that same exact pitch a strike for the Giants."

Crane hummed in solidarity.

The count had gotten up to three and two before the batter was finally struck out and the crowd roared their appreciation both in the park and in the Mills-Crane living room with Abbie pumping her fist into the air.

"Okay, one down. Two to go." The excitement of the first out had her feet back on the floor and she now sat with her elbows braced on her knees as she leaned toward the TV.

"Well at least this time he left no doubt as to whether that was or was not a strike," Crane said as the first pitch thrown to the new batter was once again a ball.

Abbie gave a wry smile and shook her head. "Yeah but I'd prefer he didn't throw any balls at all. Doubtful or otherwise. Just keep the ball over the plate."

"From your mouth to God's ears, Lieutenant."

The ball went into the dirt on the next pitch with the catcher only just managing to keep it from going wild and Abbie's heart stopped for that split second.

"Jesus," she breathed, willing her heartbeat to go back to normal. "What the hell did I just say? Settle the fuck down, Familia! Get your pitches in the damn zone!"

"Perhaps I should have wished your words to his ears instead of God's."

"Whatever works. I just really need him to start throwing some strikes and get this guy out already. I've got enough stress in my life doing what we do. I don't need it from things that are supposed to be helping me unwind."

"If it fills you with such anxiety, Lieutenant, perhaps we should–"

"No, I'm fine," she cut in before he could suggest switching off the game. Like she'd actually change the channel now. Was he crazy? "I'd just be more fine if they'd get these last two guys out and then get some runs already."

Crane nodded his head and then proceeded to watch the pitch count reach full once again.

"Dammit!" Abbie exclaimed, jumping up from her seat and turning away from the screen as the forth ball entered the catcher's glove. "Come on! You were supposed to get that guy out!"

"Look at it this way, Lieutenant," Crane reasoned and Abbie paused her pacing to look at him. "This walk allows for the 'double play'. And with the previous out, that would bring an end to the inning." 

"True." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she flopped back down on the couch. "Okay, so we just need a soft grounder to short or something so that they can hit into that double play."

"Precisely. You see? Things could be much worse. So long as this next batter does not hit a 'home run' all is not lost."

Abbie's head whipped around to face him. "Crane! What the hell! Never say things could be worse and _never_ bring up the possibility of a home run! What is wrong with you? Why would you say that?" 

Crane stuttered a moment, affronted by the sudden accusatory glare Abbie was favouring him with. "I was merely pointing out that–"

"You just jinxed them, Crane!"

"Come now, Lieutenant…"

The crack of a bat had them both turning toward the TV.

"Yep. There it is," Abbie stated as the ball sailed over the right field wall. "Shit! Fuck! God dammit, Crane!"

"I hardly see how that was my doing," Crane shot back.

"You made mention of them hitting a home run and then they went and hit one right after."

"Well, I'll just make mention of your Mets hitting a home run when it comes their turn to bat."

Abbie shook her head, grumbling, "Doesn't work that way."

The Mets were able to retire the next two batters without further incident but the damage was done. They would have to get at least three runs in the bottom of the ninth or it was all over.

Abbie sighed, took her cap off and started to turn it inside out. 

Crane eyed her curiously. "What are you doing, Lieutenant?"

"Making a rally cap," she replied, putting the now reversed hat back on her head. "You decided to jinx them and now we're down three so I gotta do this to counteract your bad juju."

"I was merely endeavouring to put a positive spin on the events. It was not my intention to 'jinx' them, as you say, Lieutenant."

"Intentional or not, a jinx is still a jinx so…" She pointed to her hat and then to the TV.

In the end, the rally cap was of no help as the Mets put forth a three up, three down inning. Abbie turned off the TV as soon as the third out was caught, not wanting to see the celebration of the other team, and then immediately stood and made for the kitchen. Crane followed at her heels.

He watched her dig around in the fridge, a small smile gracing his lips at the sound of clanking bottles. "Drinking away our sorrows?"

"Damn straight," she replied, unable to hide a grumpy smile as she handed him one of the two beers she'd taken from the fridge. She quickly opened hers and took a swig. 

"I'm sorry about your Mets, Lieutenant."

"S'okay. There's always next year, right?" She held her bottle out to him and the playful glint in her eye let him know that, though she was disappointed because of the loss, she wasn't really that upset by it. He smiled as he clinked his bottle to hers.

"To next year," he toasted. 

Abbie raised her bottle and inclined her head in agreement before taking another swig. 

Crane regarded her contemplatively as he took a sip of his own. "You know, Lieutenant, I didn't think you to be a superstitious person."

She shook her head as she swallowed. "I'm not. Usually." Setting her beer aside, she used her hands to help boost her up onto the island counter. "Only comes out when I'm watching sports. I think it rubbed off a little from Corbin." She smiled, reaching over to reclaim her beer and letting it dangle between her legs as she rested her arms on her knees. "I remember watching the Mets play with Corbin and Joe the last time they were in the playoffs. All of us with our rally caps on, sitting on the edge of Corbin's old couch. We made it all the way to game seven of the National League Championship but just couldn't manage to pull out that last win to get us to the World Series."

"He was quite a fan of the Mets, your Sheriff Corbin?"

"Oh yeah, big time." Her smile brightened in remembrance. "He would rant and rail and jump up and down more than me."

"Having been in your presence whilst games are being played, Lieutenant, that hardly seems possible," Crane teased and Abbie responded by trying to shove him with her foot.

"It's true!" she insisted, laughing despite herself. "And come playoff time especially, when we watched the game everyone had to wear something with either the team logo on it or with the team colours or be named a jinx. And we all had our own specific spots that we would sit in to watch the game. It was supposed to bring them luck."

"And should none of that prove lucky you had your 'rally caps'," Crane added.

"Exactly," Abbie grinned.

"Superstition was rampant in my day. One could hardly do anything without having some superstition or other attached to it. Being a man of logic and reason, I dismissed the lot of it as folly." He paused and took another sip of beer. "Of course I've come to realize there was some truth to some of it."

"A hard pill to swallow for us both," Abbie replied. "What were some of the superstitions from your day?"

"I was surprised to see a fair amount still around to this day. Having a black cat cross your path and breaking a mirror for insistence were both deemed to be bad omens in my era just as some believe them to be today. I'm pleased to see some of the more ridiculous ones have been abandoned, however. For example," he began, eyes sparkling with amusement, "a young, unmarried woman like yourself would never be caught sitting on a table such as you are now for fear that she would never marry and become a spinster." 

"What?" Abbie laughed out. "For sitting on a table? That's got to have more to do with sitting on a table being seen as bad manners than anything else."

"Nonetheless, you'd still find mothers clucking at their daughters never to sit upon a table lest they fall victim to bad luck and never marry." He eyed her mischievously for a moment and her eyes narrowed in suspicion of what he was about to say. "Though when you consider the average age for a woman to be married in my day was her twentieth year, you would very likely be seen as a spinster, Lieutenant, and with your penchant for sitting atop counters and tables, perhaps there is some verity to it after all."

Abbie gasped. "That is choice not luck!" she laughed, knowing that there was no real malice behind his words. "I can't believe you just basically called me an old maid."

"You are no old maid, Lieutenant. You are young and vivacious and clever and witty and brave and beautiful. To use modern vernacular, you are a catch, Lieutenant. And any man would consider himself lucky to be able to have you as his bride," Crane told her, hoping to one day be that man. "Though you by no means need to be married to prove your worth. Besides, your fondness for sitting upon tables puts you at such a lovely height for me to be able to do all kinds of delightful things." 

Abbie hummed, loosely draping her arms around Crane's shoulders as he leaned in to place a soft kiss just below the line of her jaw. "You're just trying to make up for saying I'm old." She felt his lips stretch into a smile as he continued placing kisses along the side of her neck.

"And is it working?"

"Haven't decided yet," she replied, tilting her head back to give him better access while toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Maybe if you showed me a little more of these delightful things you spoke of…"

Crane growled his acceptance to her challenge, wrapping an arm around her waist and stepping fully between her legs to pull her flush against him as she giggled. "With pleasure, my dear Lieutenant. With pleasure."

And as Crane brought his mouth to hers, Abbie forgot all about the game and jinxes and superstitions in favour of the multitude of promised delights her current perch would afford.


End file.
